


I don't look for trouble, trouble looks for me!

by Lynge



Series: I'm stuck with these Chucklefucks [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aiden Lives (The Witcher), Bipolar Aiden, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Relationship, Trans Aiden (The Witcher), Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynge/pseuds/Lynge
Summary: When he reached Vedette, it didn't take him long to find work. The majordomo of a vineyard near Beauclair hired Lambert to clear out a nest of nekkers that caused the workers issues. Easy enough job with decent pay, and it would get him nearer to Beauclair, which he knew from Geralt would probably hold a few more contracts that could fill his coin pouch.Asking around at the vineyard resulted in narrowing down one area where most of the issues had been occurring. Lambert used his witcher senses to guide him, ending up near a den that reeked of nekkers.That wasn't all, though. On a boulder, outside the cave, Lambert spotted a ginger man sharpening a weapon he didn't recognize. The man had two of them, one silver, the other steel.What the fuck is another witcher doing here?! Lambert did not doubt that the other man had spotted him. After all, their senses were probably similar to Lambert's.***How did Lambert and Aiden meet? Well, let me regale you with how that inevitably went sideways. Sort of.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: I'm stuck with these Chucklefucks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869061
Comments: 30
Kudos: 91
Collections: Witcher Rarepair Discord Collection





	I don't look for trouble, trouble looks for me!

**Author's Note:**

> CW:  
> \- Canon Typical Violence;  
> \- Excessive use of cursewords;  
> \- Graphic description of fighting & blood;  
> \- Someone gets stitches (I don't describe the process, but it is mentioned).
> 
> _Thank yous and inspiration to be found in the End Notes._

About a month ago, he set out from Kaer Morhen, a bit early in spring this time, but he was just **done** sitting around at the keep. It was cold, dreary, and all he had to keep himself busy was research and rebuilding a place he didn't give a fuck about. Merely because there was nothing else to do. Vesemir had the idiotic notion that one day the keep would be used again. Not if Lambert could help it. He had mourned the deaths of so many of his brothers, leaving only four of them. He had to admit, knowing that the recipes and procedures for making more wolves were lost, gave him a twisted sense of joy. At least no one would have to suffer through the horrendous shit he had.

Once he rode through Kaedwen and Aedirn, he had made up his mind. Lambert didn't even stop in Rivia, just kept going until something in the scenery didn't resemble a boggy wasteland of misery. It wasn't until he rode out of Belhaven that Lambert realized how far south a month of travel had brought him.

The decision was made for him when he rode into Toussaint. Fields of colorful plants— _and a lot more sunshine than Lambert would usually tolerate_ —made the place look damn near cheery. Hell, even the fucking **monsters** looked happier in Toussaint. He thought he spotted a drowner wearing a daisy chain around its neck. Upon closer inspection, more accurately, after disconnecting the drowner's neck from its torso, Lambert saw that it was just an odd discoloration of moss growing on the monster. But still. His first thought had been a fucking flower necklace. Toussaint was making him soft. And for once, he was okay with it. 

People were slightly more civil to him as he got closer to Beauclair. He knew it was just a farce. Lambert could hear them spit on the ground or mutter to themselves when he'd passed. It was better than them doing it in his face because he could just ignore people now without getting baited into a confrontation.

 _Well, you know what you arrogant fuckers, I don't give a shit._ Lambert shifted on his horse while looking back over his shoulder to a passing farmer that muttered something under his breath. _Please call me all the names you want, I'll simply take your coin and be on my merry fucking way without having to wade through a stinky bog._ He exaggerated a wave as the farmer went in the opposite direction. _I'm calling this a win so far._

The temperature was bearable, even though he knew that would probably change soon enough. Once that happened, he'd head west, maybe see if Skellige had become less of a pain in the ass. The place can't be that cold during summer, right?

When he reached Vedette, it didn't take him long to find work. The majordomo of a vineyard near Beauclair hired Lambert to clear out a nest of nekkers that caused the workers issues. Easy enough job with decent pay, and it would get him nearer to Beauclair, which he knew from Geralt would probably hold a few more contracts that could fill his coin pouch. 

Asking around at the vineyard resulted in narrowing down one area where most of the issues had been occurring. Lambert used his witcher senses to guide him, ending up near a den that reeked of nekkers.

That wasn't all, though. On a boulder, outside the cave, Lambert spotted a ginger man sharpening a weapon he didn't recognize. The man had two of them, one silver, the other steel. 

_What the_ **fuck** _is another witcher doing here?!_ Lambert did not doubt that the other man had spotted him. After all, their senses were probably similar to Lambert's.

***

While investigating the area, Aiden had discovered that a witcher was headed to Vedette. His interest piqued as he spotted the medallion around the witcher's neck. _Wolf School. I haven't met one of you before._

Swinging into a tree near the vineyard, Aiden could hear the witcher negotiate a nekker nuisance, which, incidentally, was why Aiden was in the area. Only, his assignment came from another vintner— _two contracts, one problem,_ Aiden thought. _This could be interesting._

Lowering out of the tree, Aiden had rushed towards Honeycrisp. Mounted the mare and headed out to the lair he located earlier that morning. 

All he had to do after that was sit and wait. 

Aiden switched his steel haladie for the silver one and started sharpening the edges when he heard the sound of hooves near the clearing of the cave.

"About time you got here, I've been sitting here all morning, Wolf," Aiden said in a mellow voice, attention unwavering from honing his haladie. 

He had smelled the witcher closing in on his perch. Now that he was through the clearing, Aiden could tell he looked a bit younger than him, which confirmed what he had heard about the wolves left after the sacking of Kaer Morhen.

The witcher stepped into the mouth of the cave, looking up at Aiden with a quizzical brow raised. "And who the fuck might you be?" 

Aiden lifted his eyes from his work and bore his amber catlike eyes into the golden ones of the man standing below.

"I think it's a small nest, probably not more than five of them from what I can tell, so it shouldn't take us that long." his hands went on sharpening the blades on their own accord while he spoke. Without answering the question of who he was. 

The dark-haired witcher's eyebrow crawled up a bit further as he cocked his head. "I repeat, who the fuck are you?" He'd put his hands on his hips, trying to make himself as broad as he could. _That's cute_ , Aiden thought, _he thinks he can swing his dick around and scare me off. Good luck with that._

Checking the edges of his double-bladed knives for burrs, Aiden gave his haladie a nod of approval and sheathed it onto his back. He glanced down at the spot Lambert was standing and narrowed his eyes, calculating a trajectory. Then, he leaped.

Aiden had to suppress a chuckle when he saw the little jolt Lambert tried to cover up as Aiden landed gracefully in front of him. Letting the force of the drop bounce him back up, he noticed he was slightly taller than the wolf.

He reached out his right hand to Lambert, palm side up. "Aiden. My name is Aiden. You're Lambert, School of the Wolf, right?" he said, looking at the medallion around the witcher's neck. Lambert hesitantly grabbed his wrist. Aiden grabbed Lambert's in return and squeezed the man's forearm in greeting. 

"Excuse me but who the **fuck** are you, why the **fuck** are you here, what **fucking** school do you belong to and how the **fuck** do you know who I am?!" Lambert took a step back. 

A smirk passed over Aiden's face "I just told you, I'm Aiden. As for the rest of all the fucks: I've been contracted to clear out this cave, School of the Cat, and deductive reasoning."

Lambert narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean 'deductive reasoning'?"

Aiden gestured at the medallion around Lambert's neck. "Wolf medallion, and there are only four of you left." He held up four fingers, the back of his hand facing Lambert. "Vesemir is at least as old as my mentor, and unless you've found a **really** efficient skincare routine, you're not him." He curled his pinky down.

"Geralt of Rivia is called the **_White_ ** Wolf on account of his hair. Yours is what, auburn? Not white, so you're not him." He lowered his ring finger.

"That leaves just two options. Eskel, who is said to have scars on his face that differ from yours. Or Lambert, who is known to confuse the word 'fuck' for interpunction." Aiden lowered his index finger. Leaving Lambert to stare at his middle finger. 

"So, I'm hazarding a guess that I've got the pup of Kaer Morhen in front of me."

***

Lambert could feel a pounding in his head swell up already. _This guy is going to be all headaches, isn't he?_ He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked slowly. 

"Hang on. You say you're here for the nekkers? Why would they hire two of us for a nest of nekkers? That's just overkill."

Aiden reached over his shoulder and unbuckled one of his strange weapons— _knives? They look like double-bladed knives_. It seemed silver coated, the shining of the blades reflecting the sun. 

"Yeah, it is overkill," Aiden admitted. "I'm guessing you picked up the contract near Vedette?" Lambert nodded, looking at the strange blade the Aiden was holding. It looked like the two curved blades were joined with center grip.

"I found mine at a different vineyard, closer to Beauclair. While I poked around, I discovered two vineyards bordering each other, nest in the middle. The vintners aren't on speaking terms, so the idiots both set out a contract for the same target." Aiden chuckled and absentmindedly spun the dual blade from hand to hand in a fluid motion. 

"When I heard about another witcher passing through the area. I guessed you would pop up sooner or later, and decided to hold off on clearing the nest." The distracting flurry of silver Aiden was wielding started to get on Lambert's nerves.

"Why wait, though. I'm assuming you can handle five nekkers with the number of flashy moves you're showing me right now—what the **fuck** is that thing anyway!?" Lambert gestured at the whirling weapon with an irritated nod. 

Aiden instantly held his hands still, balancing the blade in his upturned palm, edges facing sideways. "It's a silver-coated haladie. On my back is a steel one. I picked them up in Barsa half a century ago." he thrust the blade forwards with a nod, gesturing for Lambert to take it.

That surprised Lambert. Witcher's weren't known for handing off their weapons to random strangers. _So this know-it-all clown is a show-off and dense as a rock. Duly noted._

It took a moment before Lambert caught on to the additional information Aiden had thrown in. He'd been to Barsa, which was not something a lot of people claimed. And if the years were right, he would have been a witcher around the time Lambert went through the trials. _Okay. I'm starting to see the charm of deductive reasoning_.

Lambert took the dual blade and inspected it. He saw the beautiful craftsmanship in the well-maintained weapon. The runes on it glowed red and blue. The haladie was balanced well and felt light in Lambert's hand. Not enough heft for his taste, but he could see it being quick and deadly in the right hands. 

He handed the blade back to Aiden, who held it loosely in his hand. "And you haven't cleared this cave yet because?" Lambert folded his arms together. 

A wide smile with unnervingly sharp canines showed on Aiden's face. "The way I see it if we do this together, it will go faster, and we can both claim our contracts. Just bring a trophy to our respective vintners and collect double the coin for a single job." Aiden wiggled his brow in a conspiratorial gesture.

Lambert had to give it to the guy; it was a sensible plan. After all, if the vintners were stupid enough to set contracts without research, why should Lambert care if they both lost coin? The result, dead nekkers, was the same. Well, and he had to admit this Aiden character was somewhat intriguing. 

"Say I agree to us cleaning out this cave. How do I know you're not going to fuck me over and collect both contracts on your own?" Vesemir had always warned them about the Cat School's deceptive capabilities. So he wasn't willing to buy into this deal straight away.

Aiden laughed. "You don't know that. And who says you won't try to stab me in the back?" The witcher rummaged around in his satchel, pulling out a vial of what looked like ogroid oil.

"I'll be honest. Yes, I do have an ulterior motive in waiting for you to arrive." Aiden pulled the stopper off the vial with his teeth. "I've seen some lucrative contracts in Beauclair, which I think would benefit from two sets of weaponry."

Catching a whiff of the ogroid oil, Lambert could tell it was weaker than the one he was carrying. Lambert sighed, "Save that weak shit for salad dressing; this is what you need." He pulled the superior flask from his pouch and tossed it to him. "I improved the recipe." No use in letting Aiden use sub-par materials if they were going to do this.

***

Aiden quickly caught the small flask Lambert tossed towards him and put a stopper on his own. He pulled the cork off Lambert's vial and sniffed. It smelled more potent than the one he was carrying by far, which was already a superior version.

"Thank you," Dripping some of the oil on a rag, Aiden started coating his blades, ensuring he covered every millimeter of his silver haladie. "See it as a trial if you wish."

Tossing the vial, and the rag, to Lambert, Aiden continued. "I'm sure the five nekkers in there,"—he dipped his head towards the cave entrance—"will die without either one of us breaking a sweat. If that goes smooth enough, I propose we head to Beauclair and see about some ogre contracts I spotted there. Those take forever on your own, especially for me, since I need to pretty much climb them to get a stab at their sensitive parts."

"So, we clear these nekkers, cash in, and if it works, we discuss working on some bigger contracts from Beauclair." Lambert had taken out his silver broadsword and dribbled some oil on his sword, letting it run down the center crease before wiping the rag over the blade to spread the substance. "What's in it for me?"

"You mean besides the honor of fighting beside me?" Aiden said with a cheeky grin. "It just goes faster with two witchers, which means less stress and more time to enjoy the scenery."

Aiden glanced at the cave as he dug a Northern Wind from his satchel. "I can't say that it's five of them for sure. I tracked three sets of tracks here, and I found another two at the entrance." He looked back at Lambert in question.

"Only one way to find out," Lambert started walking towards the cave, taking a sip from a flask Aiden assumed to be Cat. "Are you coming or what?" Lambert threw over his shoulder. 

Jogging up to the entrance, Aiden gave the wolf a smirk and whispered, so only a fellow witcher would hear, "Good choice." Squeezing past Lambert to get into the cave, Aiden felt his medallion move under his armor. _Let's get this party started;_ he thought to himself as he popped his vial of Cat. 

The cave system sprawled on further then Aiden anticipated, paths branching off and coming together again after detours. They had to backtrack a few times before they could narrow the lair down to a single crag. They found five sets of footprints and a few unfortunate former vineyard employees on their course through the cave system. 

Aiden could smell the stench coming from the cavern beyond. He hated these hunts through closed areas— _this is hell on my sensitive nose_.

Putting a hand on Lambert's chest, he indicated the wolf to wait for a moment. "Let me count heads," Aiden whispered before he stalked off towards the mouth of the cavern.

Staying close to the walls, Aiden walked with quick, silent strides until he reached an overhanging ledge. Crouching down, he peered over the ridge. He saw what he expected; five nekkers happily chowing down on what had once probably been a human being.

Aiden glanced at a waiting Lambert, who was tracking his movements with concentration. Aiden held up his hand, flexing his digits and nodded at Lambert. Hoping the wolf would understand that to mean _'it's five of them alright.'_

***

Lambert followed Aiden's steps towards the ledge. The cat school witcher was exceptionally silent and fast in his movements, which surprised Lambert a bit. For all the showing off Aiden was doing outside the cave; he seemed to take this a bit more seriously. _Thank fuck._

Seeing Aiden hold his hand up and nodding, Lambert gathered that there were indeed five nekkers below them. Lambert gestured for Aiden to get back from the ledge. He made a circling motion with his fingers, conveying to Aiden that their best bet was to deal with these fuckers with the wall behind the Nekkers. That way, the witchers can close in and cut them down fast, making sure they couldn't flee. 

Aiden nodded and moved back, continuing to the bottom of the path once he passed Lambert. Aiden held up the Northern Wind he was holding, cocking his head in an unspoken question to Lambert, who was just getting one of his own from his belt. 

He could see the nekkers now, one of them gnawing on what looked like a femur. Lambert moved up to Aiden, who was crouching closer to the nekkers than Lambert thought comfortable. He had to remind himself that those haladies wouldn't do a lot of good if Aiden were too far away to strike. For the first time in his witchering career, Lambert was glad he was trained as a Wolf and kept some distance from his targets. 

Lambert saw Aiden focus on the nekkers, gripping his haladie tight, holding the bomb in his other hand. Since Lambert was behind Aiden, he knew to take his cue from the cat. When Aiden slung the explosive towards the group of munching nekkers, Lambert threw his bomb alongside it, before rushing in. 

Feeling a warm gold aura swell up beside him, Lambert realized they almost simultaneously cast Quen. It gave him just enough light to see the nekkers look up with surprise in their disgusting eyes as they tried to flee. "Too late, you fucks." Lambert growled and slashed in a sharp arc, immediately cutting down one of them, dazed by the bombs.

As the nekker fell to the floor, and Lambert adjusted his gaze towards the rest of the group, his excellent eyesight told him that Aiden fucked up on the ledge. There weren't five nekkers here. There were three nekkers and two **_warriors_**. 

_Fuck,_ **_fuck_ ** _,_ **_FUCK._ ** Lambert cursed internally. _Your Cat potion is probably more fit to pickle eggs with, Aiden. You didn't fucking_ **_see_ ** _that those two fucks are warriors!?_

He roared in Aiden's general direction, "It's two **warriors** you blind fuck, deal with the small ones, I'll keep them occupied." He saw the surprise in Aiden's eyes, in a flurry of silver, the cat started working his way through the two smallest nekkers. 

Lambert stood between the two warriors and Aiden. Nekkers didn't hit hard, but as every witcher knows, one nekker is annoying, more than four can potentially be lethal. Throw warriors into the mix, and your odds go down by half.

Waiting until the last possible moment, Lambert threw out an Aard, knocking the warriors back to the opposite side of the cavern. They were momentarily stunned. Lambert took the opportunity to check on Aiden. One nekker lay dead next to the femur— _definitely a femur_ —it had previously been chewing on. 

Aiden's fighting style was fluid and graceful. He was fast with his unusual weapon, carving long deep slices into the nekker, and twisting with every pull, widening the wounds. Lambert winced when Aiden's haladie plunged into the monster one last time, scooping out blood and viscera that fell to the cave floor with a sick wet slap. The runes on the blade glowing with violent happiness, as did Aiden's unnerving smile.

Lambert knew this wasn't the time for a debate on alchemy. But he couldn't help himself thinking. _How does a CAT SCHOOL witcher fuck up one of the most straightforward recipes in the fucking arsenal?!_

Before Lambert could vocalize his puzzlement, he went down.

***

Aiden watched time slow down as one of the warriors flung itself onto Lambert's back, slamming the witcher into the cave floor, his sword landing just out of range. Lambert managed to turn on his back quickly and held the beast's snapping jaws at bay with his forearm.

Aiden didn't have time to pull the monster off Lambert, since the other warrior was heading towards them in a lumbering charge. He swirled his haladie from one hand to the other in a low stance, bracing himself for impact as the warrior lunged at him. 

Putting his weight behind his next swing, Aiden made sure it carried back on itself in a figure-eight. He slashed at the warrior in two short movements, the first one taking off the top of the fiend's head, something that passed for brains spilling to the floor. The second strike hit the nekker at the chest. With a sharp twist and a scream, Aiden tore his haladie out in a smooth motion, dragging the warrior's heart with it. 

As Aiden sprinted towards Lambert's sword, he could see the nekker warrior's jaws locked onto Lambert's arm. The frantic rending had utterly shredded the witcher's leather armor from the elbow down. Aiden saw the blood pool in the warrior's mouth; the taste made the creature double its efforts. Its claws were too short to get close enough, which was a small miracle. 

Getting to Lambert's sword, Aiden grabbed it as soon as he could. "Incoming!" he yelled as he tossed the weapon towards Lambert, who reached up with his free hand and caught the sword in a fluid motion. 

Carrying the momentum of Aiden's throw with it, Lambert bashed the pummel into the warrior's head. Over and over, until its jaw loosened, enabling Lambert to get his arm out. The warrior went limp, and Lambert shoved it to the side. Springing up, Lambert turned the blade of his sword down, stabbing it through the nekker's head, impaling the monster to the floor. 

Aiden felt guilt claw up his belly as he smelled the stench of the dead nekkers and saw the blood leaking from Lambert's arm. _Guess my Cat recipe needs some work._

***

The only sound left in the cave was their heavy breathing and the soft *twang* of the sword embedded in the bedrock. 

Lambert moved his fingers, all of them seemed in working order, so no real nerve damage as far as he could tell. He raised his arm in the air to elevate the wound above his heart. It would make the circulation slow down and prevented him from bleeding out, He needed to assess the damage.

"Grab the heads; we need to get out of here," Lambert said through gritted teeth before pulling his sword from the floor with his free hand.

The warrior's head remained stuck on his blade. "Well, fuck me, just grab your own. I guess I've got mine right here." 

As he balanced the blade of his sword on his shoulder, tipping the nekker's head in the air, he peered over at Aiden and saw something— _guilt?_ flash over his face. "Come on you blind fuck, let's move." 

Lambert had to squint as they headed towards more light. The downside to having a **decent** version of Cat was that it took longer to wear off, making it harder to see in daylight. 

Slumping down against one of the exit walls, Lambert tossed his sword to the side. _That needs replacing._ The tip of the broadsword looked like a rock troll used it to pick its nose. Lambert doubted it would be salvageable. 

"You owe me a sword," Lambert growled in Aiden’s direction. 

Aiden's expression was guarded for a moment before he took off, in what Lambert assumed was his horse's direction. "I'll be right back with bandages, stay put."

"By all means, go for a stroll while I bleed to death here." Lambert snarked. 

Looking at his arm, Lambert saw that the wounds were dirty and ragged, but nothing a needle and thread couldn't fix. The sleeve of his armor was fucked. No amount of stitches could save that.

Lambert grabbed his knife and cut off the leather at his biceps. 

***

When Aiden returned with his saddlebag and saw Lambert's arm, he immediately shot into action, grabbing a bottle of alcohest, a flask of water, and bandages from his bag. From the satchel on his belt, Aiden grabbed his sewing kit. The saddlebag he dropped next to Lambert. 

"Hold still, I need to clean this first." he murmured apologetically. Using the water to rinse off the wounds, he could see the jagged edges of the flesh. The injuries weren't grave, but without stitches, they would probably heal less than optimal. 

Next was the bottle of alcohest. Aiden held Lambert's wrist, keeping his arm outstretched as he dunked half of the container on the wounds. Lambert pounded his boot into the ground with a groan. Aiden flinched as he realized this was his fault since he hadn't spotted the two warriors. 

Aiden dug through one of the pouches on his belt. "Here, Golden Oriole and Swallow, I need you to drink these." He uncapped both and handed them to Lambert, who threw them against the wall with enthusiasm. 

"The fuck I'll drink any of your weak ass hobbyist shit!" Lambert spat at him, "How the **hell** do you manage to fuck up Cat?! It's **_Cat_ ** . **CAT** . The first fucking thing they teach you! How the **fuck** is yours so weak that you can't tell the difference between a nekker and a nekker **_warrior_ **?!" 

"What the **_fuck_ **, Lambert! Do you want me just to kiss and make it better?! I don't have extras of those!" Aiden swallowed his anger, looking at the potions dripping down the wall. 

"Green pouch on my belt, the orange and golden vials, at least I know those will **_work_ **," Lambert said with a sarcastic sneer. 

Aiden bent over Lambert, careful not to touch his arm, snaking his own under Lambert's armor and opening the container at his belt. He immediately had the right vials and took the stoppers off. Holding them up, Lambert bit down on the necks and threw his head back, swallowing them in one go, spitting the empty vials onto the floor. 

Despite Lambert looking worse now that the toxins of the potions were working their way through his body, Aiden could feel him relax. Which meant it was time for the next part. 

Sitting next to Lambert, Aiden threaded a curved needle with a thin silk thread. Checking the wounds, he found three of them that could use some stitches. Beginning with the most significant slash, he looked at Lambert. "Do you need anything to bite down on or something?"

Lambert gave him an incredulous look, "You're fucking kidding me, right? You're asking me if I need to **bite down** on something. After **_this_ **?" He wiggled his arm. "Start your fucking needlepoint project already." Aiden set his jaw and grabbed Lambert's wrist tighter than strictly necessary. 

Aiden worked quickly and neatly. Ensuring all sutures were evenly spaced and the pressure was enough to aid the skin in knitting itself together. It didn't take him long to get all three of them done, the smaller slashes already healing over. He gave the wounds one more rinse, with alcohest, even though water would have worked. 

_Because fuck you, Lambert._

***

After the stitches, Aiden had pulled a tin from his saddlebag. The contents were light yellow and smelled vaguely of marigold, lanolin, and a spice Aiden told him was turmeric. According to Aiden, it would help minimize the scarring. Which Lambert saw as entirely useless, who gives a fuck about scars? He protested, but Aiden was resolute about slathering the shit on Lambert's arm.

"If this gets infected and I die. I will haunt your ass forever." Lambert snorted. 

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Aiden quipped in response while he wrapped Lambert's forearm up with bandages. 

As Lambert looked down at his arm, he had to give it to Aiden; those were some pretty fucking neat stitches he had worked, and the bandage felt pretty comfortable. The ointment smelled strange to him, but it did kind of cool down the itching of his skin. Not bad at all. 

Lambert glanced into Aiden's saddlebag, standing next to him. "Well, what do we have here?" He fished a stone jug out of the bag, as Aiden dropped the remainder of the alcohest, water and bandages in.

"I need a drink after this clusterfuck," Lambert said as he grabbed the jug. Aiden didn't object, and Lambert took a swig, savoring the taste of sweet Sodden mead. _Ah, Aiden does have functioning taste buds._

Lambert wiped his mouth on the bandage. "You're pretty good with needle and thread. It's your saving grace because you" —he pointed at Aiden— "are patching up this armor as soon as we find some leather in Beauclair." He took another large gulp of mead.

"Did you get healing training at the Cat School?" he asked Aiden, handing him the jug.

Aiden took a sip from the bottle, "Nope, my mom taught me sewing as a kid. So you called that one correctly." He handed the bottle back to Lambert. "I did get some training in healing salves a few decades back, but nothing serious."

"I won, though." Aiden beamed at Lambert with a cocky grin. "That's a 3-2 score for nekkers, in my favor." 

Lambert took a sip and set the jug next to his hip. "Fuck you. I was busy fixing your cock-up and buying us time."

Lambert couldn't help himself. He had to ask, "So, your potions and oils...What the **_fuck_ **is up with that?"

Aiden chuckled, "Have you considered that my alchemy might not be **_bad_ ** , but rather, yours is exceptionally **_good_ **?"

"Agreed, I am exceptionally fucking good at alchemy." Lambert didn't even try to sound humble. The simple fact was that he could find room for improvement in almost every recipe, so he did. 

Aiden shrugged and smiled apologetically, "Fair enough, alchemy has never been my strong suit." 

Lambert took the last swig of mead, "Then what **_is_ **your strong suit?"

Aiden gave him a mischievous smirk, "I give great head."

Lambert wasted his last mead, spitting it out in a shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to [sohydrated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated), again, you are amazing. If you like Trans characters, be sure to check out [Just a Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934469) and [A Balanced Scale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947786) by [sohydrated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated). Her Barnabas-Basil is amazing and Trans!Geralt is a fucking powerhouse.
> 
> ***
> 
> Title and fic inspired by ['Trouble' by Five Finger Death Punch: https://youtu.be/buDl_QY640k](https://youtu.be/buDl_QY640k)


End file.
